


Songs of Faith and Devotion

by dreamyemptysouls



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, And I mean fluff., And Sap., BDSM, Cuddles, Fluff, KMM Fill, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyemptysouls/pseuds/dreamyemptysouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and there are times where you feel your whole life is flashing before your eyes, painfully slowly, profoundly heartbreaking.</p>
<p>While you lie there alone in the dark, body tightly stretched across the soft mattress and hands and feet handcuffed together, stretching you even more, the blindfold makes you focus inside your own head, and your thoughts and memories merge together, filling up the void and silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs of Faith and Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this Kink Meme prompt](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/17313.html?thread=35060385#t35060385), which was love at first sight for me and needs a million more fills.
> 
> I have no idea of what I'm doing here, and I'm sorry.
> 
> Title comes from a Depeche Mode album because that's all I listened to while writing this (especially ['In Your Room'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glh7ZqeGh6g), gah I love that song).

Your name is Dave Strider, and there are times where you feel your whole life is flashing before your eyes, painfully slowly, profoundly heartbreaking.

While you lie there alone in the dark, body tightly stretched across the soft mattress and hands and feet handcuffed together, stretching you even more, the blindfold makes you focus inside your own head, and your thoughts and memories merge together, filling up the void and silence.

Sometime you feel like he is taking too long to come back, or is just sitting there, so close and yet unreachable, and you go down far enough on memory lane to peel off years of sheer happiness and contentment, becoming the touch-deprived boy once more, who should be above such a basic need as per rule of Strider, but never really quite got there. You find yourself struggling with your cuffs, chafing the skin of your wrists and ankles, but thankfully enough he always returns before you hurt yourself too much, and his weight on your legs, the scent and touch so unmistakably his, excite you to no end, and you drink up every little reward he gives you, handing yourself to him over and over again in hopes that he can give you more.

John was never too big on the whole physical sense of this thing you had going on, but he always managed to find ways for you to hunger for him, for you to be overwhelmed by this primal fear that he'll never come back, and if he does, you will have to earn it. He moves where he can't see you, he touches you ever so slightly to watch you arch off the mattress, with tiny ice cubes or water droplets or this stupid slime thing he found in some joke shop, or bites you hard enough to mark you.

He never speaks but you can sometimes hear him giggle, or even if you can't see him beyond your blindfold, you can feel the mischievous smirk on his lips. He urges you to swallow him whole as he sits on your chest, his hand tightly tangled with your hair, and he slowly relents to touch you too, the other hand hovering down, pumping your painfully hard dick steadily, slowly before he decides to pick up his pace, and every flick and motion of lean, long fingers is a blessing and a gift.

You know he's close to coming when he can't keep his voice down anymore, and this is its own reward as well. When the both of you are done and you're panting, lips smeared with sticky, salty white and body buried deep in the mattress while your limbs still hang from their chains, he moves quickly to take off your blindfold, and the bubbly, dorky face that greets you after you blink the darkness away, eyes like molten sapphires and so blue, skin flushed and his whole expression making it so obvious that he's still coming down from his high, recollecting reality, that face is your biggest reward. Well, not counting with what he does next, that is.

He is still dorky and adorable as he quickly dips to kiss you, scrunching up his nose at the taste of himself, and you wait patiently as he scurries off to gather a bunch of stuff, clearing your sore throat before you tease him about how he'll manage to trip over something without his glasses. Thankfully nothing bad happens until he comes back and, sitting on the bed beside your spent body, spreads all the items he's brought on the mattress.

The first thing he does is uncuff you, carefully holding your hands and feet and placing them on the mattress beside your torso, at the end of the bed. Soaking a cloth with water, he twists it before he brushes it over the skin of your stomach, the area around your mouth, to cleanse you off the come and the sweat and the slime. He is extra careful as he passes by the minor wounds to your wrists and ankles, kissing them and your fingertips, the balls of your feet, and all the while he never shuts up. You close your eyes, taken in by the innocent, tender lovingness of his gestures, such a contrast to the harshness and loneliness and hunger you have felt before. You listen to the droplets of water falling back to the basin he's brought, you take in the strong, fresh scent of the antiseptic, and you love it as he pieces you back whole, always sounding so utterly excited and happy every time he describes how beautifully your body moves while he's touching you, how much you turn him on with your voice, how he can't wait till you do this again - even if you've lost count of how many times this has happened already.

You lazily call him a doofus but your grin betrays you, and as he giggles back and slides into bed next to you, pulling the covers over the both of you, you love how he takes care of you, and you let yourself believe this is real, this is forever.

And maybe, just maybe, you are good enough to never go lonely or touch-starved again.

As he holds you, ushering you to get on top of him, one arm squeezes you while the other hand takes its sweet time playing with the taut skin of your back, kneading the muscle slowly, and only then moving to your hair, softly threading the skin beneath with long, warm fingers. You melt into his embrace and feel him smiling against your ear, sleepily slurring words so cheesy and endearing and so utterly heartwrenching that they must have come from a few of his stupid, crappy movies - but you love them anyway. You realize that you probably need both these sides of your relationship then, and like that song from that sappy Nic Cage movie, you need to bleed when things feel too unreal, so that he can pick you up every time and you know you're awake and not dreaming, you know you're alive.

He only goes silent when sleep comes over him, and you love how he looks so ridiculous and happy and beautiful, and it's amazing and scary how he can mean so much to you, how he's your dom and the person you love, how he's your best friend and the kindest person you'll ever know, it's amazing how lucky you are to have him here with you.

Feeling squeaky clean and wholly reborn, you squeeze yourself between the warmth of his body and his breath, allowing time to tick away as you surrender yourself once more, this time to a dreamless, peaceful slumber, mumbling back a couple of cheesy words as well before you drift away.


End file.
